


Sunrise

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Fluff, M/M, and NOT having them kiss during it, fixin the show’s grievous error of giving lorenzo & francesco a scene w/romantic silhouette lighting, i mean really what a waste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: Three times Lorenzo wanted to kiss Francesco, and one time he did.





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue is all taken from episodes 3 and 4, except for the ending which I invented myself

Lorenzo wanted to kiss him when he came to discuss Bianca and Guglielmo’s elopement. He didn’t quite know how it happened, but suddenly they were standing so close together and Lorenzo found himself poking Francesco in the chest, talking about _our alliance._

For whatever reason, he let his finger rest there longer than he should have, and after a moment Francesco looked down at it, as if silently asking what Lorenzo thought he was doing. Yet neither of them made any attempt to move away and put more distance between themselves.

Lorenzo took advantage of Francesco’s lowered gaze and stared at him for a second, struck by how _beautiful_ he was. He had sort of noticed it the first time he saw him after his return from Rome, had sort of noticed it at the jousting tournament and in the Signoria, but now it was hitting him like never before.

Then his eyes flickered down to Francesco’s lips, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. But now was not the time; Lorenzo forced himself to look back up and focus on the task at hand. “If I can save Guglielmo and Bianca,” he said, heart skipping a beat when Francesco finally raised his eyes to meet his, “without putting the treaty at risk, would you consider it?”

Francesco studied him with a frown, his jaw set, but Lorenzo thought he detected a flicker of concern in his eyes. He thought back to the beginning of the conversation. _My uncle says._ Francesco didn’t want Guglielmo’s reputation to be ruined any more than Lorenzo did Bianca’s, but he was so accustomed to following Jacopo’s orders in all things. Lorenzo knew that all too well.

When they were children, Francesco hadn’t loved Lorenzo enough to defy Jacopo. But maybe he loved Guglielmo enough now.

“There’s no way,” Francesco said finally. But Lorenzo knew he wasn’t saying there was no way he would consider it. He was only saying there was no way Lorenzo could pull such a thing off.

And Lorenzo also knew that Francesco _wanted_ him to be able to pull it off, wanted to be able save his brother from disgrace, regardless of what Jacopo said. “All I’m asking for is time,” Lorenzo wheedled.

Again they held each other’s gaze, again Lorenzo felt _something_ simmering between them. Trying not to show how flustered he was, he stepped away and moved to sit behind his desk before he did something stupid. Like kiss him.

“For the sake of your brother, Francesco, if not for Florence,” he said, and he watched as Francesco sighed and looked away, conflict written all over his face.

 _Trust me. Please,_ Lorenzo wanted to say. _We were friends once. Can we not be again?_

But he said nothing, knowing it would be unwise to push Francesco too far, and instead watched him turn and silently walk out of his office.

* * *

“For.”

Lorenzo’s heart jumped into his throat, and he turned to exchange an astonished glance with Giuliano before looking back at Francesco. He was staring down at the floor, as if he was ashamed of himself for voting with Lorenzo and against Jacopo. But he had still done it.

Francesco sat back down amidst an outbreak of shocked noises from the other members of the Priori. Lorenzo saw Jacopo speaking angrily to him, though he couldn’t hear what he was saying over the general uproar. The Gonfaloniere called everyone to order so that he could cast the final vote.

“In favor,” he said. “The treaty is ratified.”

Exhilaration flooded through Lorenzo as the room was again filled with shouting. He’d done it. He’d managed to save Bianca, Guglielmo, _and_ the treaty. Francesco hadn’t thought it was possible.

Yet it was because of him that it _was_ possible.

Lorenzo looked back at him. Jacopo was storming off in a huff, but Francesco was still seated, still staring at the floor and avoiding everyone’s gaze. For one wild moment, in the rush of triumph and adrenaline, Lorenzo wanted to stride over there and yank him to his feet and kiss him senseless, wanted to say this victory was not his alone but rather theirs together, wanted to ask him if they could finally be on the same side again.

But he managed to control himself—somehow he didn’t think kissing Francesco in the middle of the Signoria would go over well with anyone in the room, least of all Francesco himself—and instead he followed Giuliano over towards him at a much slower and more restrained pace than he would have wished.

“I never thought I’d say this, Francesco, but thank you,” Giuliano was saying when Lorenzo joined them.

Francesco ignored him. “We are in your debt, Francesco,” Lorenzo said.

And then, finally, Francesco stood. But only so he could glare at Lorenzo and say, “Don’t flatter yourself, I didn’t vote for you. I voted for my brother.”

Lorenzo’s heart sank a little despite himself. Some part of him _had_ hoped Francesco had done it for him, though he’d known it was only wishful thinking. It was Guglielmo and Guglielmo alone whom Francesco cared about and was loyal to, not Lorenzo. They weren’t allies. They weren’t friends.

But their siblings would soon be married, which meant they’d be seeing much more of each other. Maybe…maybe they _could_ be friends, eventually.

 _Or maybe even more,_ a small voice whispered in the back of Lorenzo’s mind.

“Be that as it may, we’re to be family now,” Lorenzo said, holding out his hand for Francesco to shake.

There was a long silence as Francesco continued looking coldly at him, making no move to take his hand. No move to accept his friendship. And then, just as he had at the tournament, he brushed him aside and walked away without another word.

Lorenzo let his hand fall uselessly back to his side, turning to watch Francesco leave. And he realized that regardless of what he said his motives were, Francesco _had_ voted in his favor. It _had_ been for him, at least a little bit. He wouldn’t be so angry with Lorenzo and with himself right now if it wasn’t.

Lorenzo smiled slightly, hope filling him despite the less-than-ideal end to the conversation. He had spent years missing him and now, slowly but surely, his Francesco was coming back to him at last.

* * *

“Do you remember the day that your uncle came to fetch you and Guglielmo?” Lorenzo asked.

Francesco was silent, and for a moment Lorenzo thought he was going to ignore him. But then he spoke. “I could never forget it,” he said, more softly, more vulnerably than Lorenzo had ever heard him. “It felt like the sun would never shine again.”

The confession made Lorenzo’s heart swell with some indescribable emotion. He’d thought Francesco had hated him for all these years, yet now he was admitting that being separated from Lorenzo felt like the sun had left his world forever. It was exactly how Lorenzo had felt too, like all the light in his life had been dragged out the door by Jacopo that day.

Now, though, that light was back. Flickering still, not as bright as it had been back then, yet…stronger somehow, more intense. More dangerous, perhaps. As if Lorenzo would burn himself if he got too close to it.

But oh, how he wanted to.

“And yet all these years later, it has,” he found himself saying, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Francesco.

Francesco had been sorting through some bank papers, but now he paused, looking up to meet Lorenzo’s gaze. There was that sun, that light, that _fire,_ so close to burning him. The silence was heavy with words unsaid, and Lorenzo got the distinct impression that Francesco’s eyes were boring right into his mind, reading all the thoughts he didn’t want him to know.

“Your brother, my sister, married,” Lorenzo explained quickly, though that was not at all what he’d meant when he’d said that the sun had returned to his world. “Just as your parents would have wished.”

Francesco dropped his gaze again, something closed-off and sad in his expression, and Lorenzo regretted his words. Why was he bringing up painful memories, anyway? He’d come here for a reason, and he looked away from Francesco so that he could remember what it was.

“I need your help, Francesco,” he said. “To find proof that your uncle is paying someone to undercut me in Volterra.”

“He raised me,” Francesco said behind him after a slight pause. “He’s my family.”

Lorenzo turned to face him fully at last. “Now I’m your family too,” he said.

And Francesco lifted his head and looked at him, his eyebrows drawn together, conflict and sheer _emotion_ on his face. He looked like he might cry, and Lorenzo wondered when he’d last heard anyone besides Guglielmo express affection for him. Probably not since that very day they’d been speaking of, when Jacopo had come to take him away.

Lorenzo suddenly ached with a loneliness that was not his own. He longed to pull Francesco into his arms, to hold him close and tell him he wasn’t alone anymore, he had a new family now, people who loved him. To tell him that _he_ loved him, as a brother.

As more than a brother.

Lorenzo longed to kiss him until that perpetual frown was no longer on his face, to kiss him until he was smiling that beautiful and too rare smile of his. To run his fingers through his hair, to feel his skin under his hands, his heartbeat against his chest. To tell him that his soul had been calling out for its other half ever since that day the sun had gone away.

But again the logical part of Lorenzo’s mind intervened, reminding him that he needed something from Francesco right now, that the good of Florence depended on it. And the good of Florence had to come before his personal desires. That, he realized, was exactly what he needed to make Francesco see too.

So he said, “It feels like a betrayal, I know. I know. But together we can…we can prevent a _war_ and save untold lives, Francesco.”

And the way Francesco was looking at him, Lorenzo knew he’d gotten through. If Francesco wouldn’t help him for his sake, he would at least do it for all the innocent people who would die if he didn’t.

Yet some selfish part of Lorenzo wished that, just once, Francesco would do something truly for _him._

* * *

He snuck back into the Pazzi home late that night. Francesco’s note had said to meet him in his study, so that was where Lorenzo headed, retreading the path he’d taken several hours earlier. He pushed open the door as quietly as he could and entered the room, looking around for Francesco, though he didn’t see him.

“Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo started slightly and turned to see Francesco concealed in the shadows at the edge of the room. “Do you have it?” he asked.

Francesco held up a piece of paper. Lorenzo moved closer. “The last name,” Francesco said as Lorenzo took the paper from him. “He is the one selling alum on my uncle’s orders.”

Lorenzo glanced at the name, but suddenly all he could think of was what a sacrifice this was for Francesco. To betray his own uncle, all because Lorenzo had asked him to. “Thank you, Francesco,” he said softly.

“Tell me it will do some good,” Francesco said, a hint of self-loathing in his voice. He was staring down at the paper that had cost him so much to bring here tonight. Lorenzo knew what he was really saying. _Tell me I didn’t betray my family for nothing._

“Yes,” Lorenzo promised, and Francesco looked back up at him. “If we can get him to testify against Jacopo.”

They stood there a moment in silence and shadows. Lorenzo knew he should go, their business was done, yet he couldn’t. And Francesco didn’t ask him to leave either, nor did he make any move to walk away himself.

That now-familiar urge to kiss him was back, stronger than ever before. Lorenzo didn’t know what it was that was different this time. Was it because they were safe from prying eyes? Because he’d already gotten everything he needed from Francesco and could afford to now distract both of them? Because the cover of darkness gave him an extra boost of courage?

He didn’t know what exactly it was this time that was different, but this time rather than pushing the wish to the back of his mind, he moved forward another inch and kissed him.

Francesco’s lips were surprisingly soft, pliant, and Lorenzo kissed him deeply, resting one hand on the back of his neck and the other, still clutching the slip of paper, on his waist. After a second Francesco started to kiss him back, slowly, cautiously, like he wasn’t sure this was supposed to be happening. Lorenzo closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the moment, some part of his soul whispering that this was _right_ somehow.

At last they paused for air. Lorenzo smiled at him, but Francesco did not return it. “We—” He cleared his throat. “We cannot do this,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” Lorenzo murmured. “What are you afraid of?”

He expected Francesco to frown and defiantly say that he wasn’t afraid of anything. But it wasn’t the usual cocky, arrogant Francesco who was standing in front of him. It was the one buried below that façade, the quiet and deeply sensitive one Lorenzo had been getting more and more glimpses of lately.

“You,” Francesco breathed.

“Me?” Lorenzo said, perplexed. “You’re afraid of me?”

“Of how you draw people in. Of how once you come into someone’s life, nothing else exists for them anymore.” Francesco closed his eyes and swallowed. “Of how much I want such a life. Where nothing exists but you. But I know it wouldn’t last. You care about me now because you need me, but once I’m no longer politically useful to you, you’ll move on without a second thought.”

“Do you truly think me so heartless?” Lorenzo said, hurt.

Francesco opened his eyes again and looked at him with that same vulnerability he’d had earlier that day. “Not heartless, no. You simply don’t realize the effect you have on people,” he said. “You go in and out of lives as if it’s nothing, and for those of us whom you leave behind, it feels like—like—”

“Like the sun will never shine again,” Lorenzo said softly.

Francesco took a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Lorenzo could have pointed out that it was not his choice to leave Francesco’s life all those years ago. He could have said that it was Jacopo’s fault for separating them, or that it was Francesco’s for rejecting his friendship afterwards.

And yet, Lorenzo had never made another attempt to visit Francesco again after the catastrophic failure of the first one. He’d simply let their friendship slip away rather than fighting for it. Yes, Lorenzo had been sad, had missed his friend, but he’d had other friends too and had recovered quickly enough. Whereas Francesco had been left all alone in this cold and unforgiving house, cut off from all his loved ones but Guglielmo.

No small wonder he felt that Lorenzo had abandoned him, Lorenzo thought with a pang of regret. But…Francesco didn’t realize that Lorenzo had also felt abandoned.

“I should have tried harder, all those years ago. And I’m sorry,” Lorenzo said. “But going out of your life—it wasn’t nothing to me. It _hurt._ I have missed you _so much,_ Francesco. I did come here tonight because of politics, it’s true. But I stayed because of you. I’m still here right now because of you.”

Francesco was watching him with a mix of wariness and hope. Lorenzo reached up to rest his hand on his cheek, and Francesco leaned into the touch slightly, his expression softening. “You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not _you_ who’s in _my_ power, it’s the other way around,” Lorenzo said. “You have me captive, Francesco, and the only thing I can do is ask you to set me free.”

Their foreheads and noses were touching, their breath mingling together. And then Francesco closed the little distance between them and kissed him again. Lorenzo sighed into his mouth and pulled him even closer, kissing him greedily, drinking in the taste of him.

When they drew apart this time, Francesco had a small, tentative smile on his face. Even in the darkness Lorenzo could see how beautiful happiness looked on him. “Will you stay?” Francesco asked softly. And Lorenzo knew he wasn’t only asking about tonight.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” he replied. Francesco’s smile widened, and the sun rose at last.


End file.
